Lifescapes

In Bloom This Week: Garlic Chives

There’s garlic (Allium sativum) and there are chives (A. schoenoprasum)—and then there are garlic chives (A. tuberosum). This week, these are brightening my garden with starry white flowers, dearly loved by the bees. All year long, I snip the flat, narrow green leaves into salads, omelets, soups, stirfrys, and even mashed potatoes, where they add color and a subtle garlic taste. The tender young leaves are best to cook with, so I shear the entire clump back to the ground every three or four weeks, to encourage new growth. You can dry the snipped leaves for winter-time use, or pop them into small plastic bags and freeze them--if you have chickens, they'll love them! These guys reseed generously, so if you don't want LOTS of garlic chives, you'll need to weed them out.

Book report. I'll be finished writing A Plain Vanilla Murder (China's 27th mystery) by the end of the week. I've learned a lot about vanilla and the challenges of vanilla farming, as well as orchid smuggling, the global black market in illegal plants, and related criminal pursuits. As usual, China Bayles has a lot to teach me. But that's always one of the enormous pleasures of working with this series. So much to learn!

Next steps: The Vanilla manuscript goes to my copyeditor in mid-month, and I'll get the cover artist started. The book will be printed/distributed via Greenleaf and scheduled for May 7, 2019. Look for it then!

More on the publishing front. The Darling Dahlias and the Poinsettia Puzzle--#8 in that 1930s series--will be published October 16. If you're a Kindle reader, use this link to preorder, and your purchase will benefit the Story Circle Network. I've already started to think about Book #9, The DDs and the Voodoo Lily. The ladies at Bessie's Magnolia Manor have a story they want me to tell.

It's been a quiet summer here at Meadow Knoll. We've had 51 days (so far) of 100+ temperatures, so it's been plenty uncomfortable outdoors. But we had 4" of rain in August, so the leaves are still green. Bill's pecan trees are loaded, but the crows and squirrels are already assembling their troops so the annual battle (who gets the most pecans?) is about to begin.

It's still plenty hot, but fall is on the horizon. The goldenrod is starting to bloom, and there are Maximilian sunflowers blooming along the lane. These things, these beautiful, natural things, are real. It's frighteningly easy to allow the deepening crisis in our government to distract me from the daily work of crafting a creative life. But every day I feel the privilege of living here and being able to do what I love. I remind myself to pay attention to the realities around me. That's where the truth lives. That's where the real story is. And that's what we all hunger for these days, I think. Realities. Truths. And real stories.

Reading note. Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away. ― Philip K. Dick,

 

 

 

 

 

Gregg's mistflower: In bloom this week

It's the height of a very hot summer here in the Texas Hill Country, and the native flowers are past their prime. But not all. The drought- and heat-tolerant blue mistflower, Conoclinium greggii, is blooming, to the delight of the Queen butterflies, who cluster on it and rise up in a cloud of colorful wings when I walk past. The butterflies adore even the faded flowers and the dried brown stalks, a mystery that has always puzzled me.

Until I learned why, from an informative post written by Ray Conrow for the Native Plant Society of Texas. It turns out that most of the queen butterflies I'm seeing are males, happily tanking up on a plant chemical that they cleverly convert to a sexy perfume (a pheromone) that female queens find irresistible. The chemical (called intermedine) is poisonous to animals and birds, but not to the butterflies. When they mate, the male passes it on to the female, who passes it on to her eggs, which makes them less attractive to predators. In the process, the queens pollinate the mistflower, which returns the favor by helping their helpers produce more pollinators. A productive collaboration, don't you think? 

Book news. July was mostly taken up with Story Circle's biannual writing conference. (Story Circle is an organization for women writers that I helped to create 20-some years ago.) But I'm back at the computer, finishing up China's 27th adventure, A Plain Vanilla Murder, planned for May, 2019, in hardcover, ebook, and audio, via Persevero Press, my imprint. That's been an interesting book, featuring vanilla (derived from an orchid) and orchid smuggling (who knew?).

 I've also been working on getting the latest Dahlias mystery, The Darling Dahlias and the Poinsettia Puzzle, into the world. The book is now at the printer, so you can have it on October 16. If you're a Kindle reader, you can preorder it now. Use this link, and your purchase will benefit Story Circle. 

And be sure and tell your librarian about the book, so she can order it, too. The tenth book in the series is only a glimmer in my imagination right now, but the Dahlias have told me their title: The Darling Dahlias and the Voodoo Lily. Sounds like fun to me. I'm already curious.

It's been a chaotic summer nationwide, weather-wise and in the political landscape. Hoping for cooler weather and calmer heads--although I have the feeling that it's going to get worse before it gets better. There are plenty of political storms out there, and we haven't seen our first hurricane yet.

Reading note. America is a hurricane, and the only people who do not hear the sound are those fortunate if incredibly stupid and smug [people] who live in the center, in the serene eye of the big wind.--Norman Mailor

Yellow Flags: Dangerous Beauty

 

Along the creek and under the bridge, the yellow flags are blooming. When I planted these several decades ago, I was attracted by their beauty--a dangerous seduction. I didn't know how invasive they are, and I'm sorry now that I've given them a home. The cattails are perhaps more problematic, when it comes to multiplying and choking our little creek--but the cattails are native to this place. They were here before I came, so I don't feel as responsible. Yellow flag, in contrast, is native to Europe, Asia, and North Africa and was imported to North America in the 1700s. You can find it (unfortunately) at your local nursery, where it is sold as an ornamental.

Last week, Bill put on his cutoffs and rubber boots, waded into the creek, and spent a couple of hours pulling out both yellow flags and cattails. The flags are beautiful, but unless you can contain them, don't buy them. Better yet, don't buy them at all. Because they're so mobile (they multiply not just by rhizomes but by seed and broken parts of the plant), they can become a challenge to control. Look here for a scary demonstration of their threat and here for a discussion of their biology.

These days, we're becoming more aware of the dangers posed by invasive species. Dan Egan's frightening book, The Death and Life of the Great Lakes, gives us a very clear picture of the ecological catastrophe that's occurring in the Lakes. But it's not just there. It's everywhere. We need to pay attention and remind ourselves that we can manage this, if we will.

Reading note. A supposedly daring insight came up, disguised as a question: Dr. Cole, aren't humans the most invasive species of all? She'd fielded that one many times before, during public lectures and even in her days as a teaching assistant. 'I'm not unsympathetic to that line of thinking,' she answered, 'but even if it's true, we're also the only species in any position to do anything about it.--Joe Pitkin, Analog Science Fiction and Fact, June 2012

 

 

In Bloom This Week: the compass plant

 

The compass plant (Silphium albiflorum) returns every summer to our roadside. as persistent as a habit. This one is white, a rarer variety; I've read that compass plants are more often yellow. Coarse and weedy, it's not a very pretty plant, but it grows in an interesting way, aligning itself to the points of the compass. The rough, incised leaves grow on a north-south axis, facing the sun (east and west) morning and evening, but turned sideways (north and south) at midday (when this photo was taken). On hot summer days, this allows the leaves to do a good job of photosynthesis without losing lots of water through evaporation.  

William Least Heat Moon writes about the compass plant in PrairyErth: “Where these yellow rays of blossoms once grew in abundance ten feet high, some prairie tribes refused to camp, believing that the plants drew down lightning, yet during electrical storms the people burned the dried root to ward off thunderbolts.” The association with lightning may have arisen from the plant's many uses as a valuable healer for all sorts of ailments--as well as its narcotic properties (it's a mild opiate). The stems were slit and the resinous sap gathered for use as a "chewing gum." (It's also called rosinweed and gumweed.)

I love the compass plant because it's a remnant of the ecosystem that once encompassed the Hill Country. If you come across it when you're hiking out here, pause and smile. You've stepped onto a rare piece of original prairie, the way it was before settlers arrived and began plowing and fencing and cutting and paving. That's something to celebrate.

Garden report. Not much in the garden this year, because we were gone through late April and into May, our spring gardening months. We dug the potatoes this week, between rainstorms. The Yukon Gold yielded better than the Reds, but not by much. Still, there's enough for several weeks of meals, and they're very tasty, boiled, then pan-roasted with butter, garlic, and lots of parsley. Parsley, basil, and thyme are growing better than anything else in the garden this year. But the Girls are outdoing themselves and we have plenty of eggs. I'm planning a quiche for supper.

Book report. Loving Eleanor  has been shortlisted for the Eric Hoffer Grand Prize, another important recognition for this story of the thirty-year friendship of Eleanor Roosevelt and Lorena Hickok. Also, The General's Women was reviewed in an Irish newspaper. (Ireland is the homeland of Kay Summersby, the main character in this biographical novel.) Nice to see that the book is getting some international recognition. And I'm nearly finished with The Darling Dahlias and the Unlucky Clover. This book is the first of a couple (maybe three?) plot-linked books in that series--planning to publish this one early next year. Currently researching: the later life of the painter, Georgia O'Keeffe.

Reading note, from Always Beginning, by Maxine Kumin: I am grateful for every ordinary day, knowing that these will draw to a close somewhere beyond our seeing. I hope to go on picking vegetables, pulling bindweed out of the fields, enjoying the birds, the dogs, even our elderly cat, whose last season this likely will be. . . Going on is, after all, the ultimate pleasure of our lives.

In bloom this week: Indian paintbrush

The paintbrush are splashing color across the green meadows this week, waiting for the arrival of the first hummingbirds. The "flower" of this lovely native plant is really a cluster of colored bracts, specialized stiff, hairy leaves that conceal a tiny flower. There's no convenient place to perch, so the flowers can only be fertilized by a hovering insect or bird. And because the true flowers are deep inside the attractive bracts, the pollinator needs a long "sipper." That's where the hummingbirds come in, with their long beaks and tongues.

Interesting paintbrush lore. The blossom cluster is said to be sweet, and were eaten by Indians. The Chippewa used a decoction of the plant as a shampoo, and other tribes used it to treat venereal diseases, rheumatism, kidney ailments, and even as a contraceptive. (For more on that subject, see this Quora post.) However, the plants concentrate selenium and can be toxic, especially when they're growing in alkaline soil. Another interesting note: the plant is hemiparasitic: that is, it has specialized roots called haustoria that invade a host (usually a grass) and suck out water and nutrients. (Mistletoe is another hemiparasitic plant, but it grows in trees, rather than in the ground.) 

Book report. Last week, I reported that Loving Eleanor has been shortlisted for the Ben Franklin award. This week, the book has two more award nominations: the Lammy and Foreword Indies. Hick, ER, and I are hoping to bring home some gold, so keep your fingers crossed, please. The Ben Franklin will be announced early in April, the Lammy and Foreword Indies in June.

Meanwhile, the Dahlias are off to another 1930s adventure. This one takes place in October, 1934--the Darling economy is looking up, but too many people are too entranced with that huckster, Huey P. Long, who is promising to make "every man a king" and fix what ails the country. Sound familiar? The parallels between that period and this continue to astonish me. The signature plant for this book: clover. I'm still tinkering with the title.

Queen Anne's Lace goes off to my editor next week, along with proposals for more books in that series. We'll see how that works out. And The General's Women (my latest biographical/historical fiction) is out and doing very well. If your library doesn't have it, please ask them to get it for you. It's also available via online retailers and by special order, from your local bookstores.

Homestead report. The warmest winter in recorded Texas history is segueing into a warm spring. The perennial onions are budding already, nearly ready to bloom--in all my years of gardening, I've never seen them so early. But I have to confess that it's been a treat, especially compared to the cruel late-winter storm in the North and Northeast. The Girls are laying regularly; the peas need a replant (poor germination this spring: the seed?). But the potatoes are thriving and it's time to start thinking tomatoes. Especially lovely, Pecan Creek, which is running full and clear, between banks green with fern. Inhabiting this refuge is a special pleasure when the world beyond is as ugly and catastrophic as it is just now. 

Reading note: To inhabit a place means literally to have made it a habit, to have made it the custom and ordinary practice of our lives, to have learned how to wear a place like a familiar garment, like the garments of sanctity that nuns once wore. The word habit, in its now-dim original form, meant "to own." We own places not because we possess the deeds to them, but because they have entered the continuum of our lives.--Paul Gruchow

In Bloom This Week: Primrose--and some thoughts on history

Our spring-green grass is brightened this week by the lovely lemon bloom of the Missouri evening primrose (Oenthera macrocarpa) that grows wild in our meadows. Isn't she gorgeous? And so is her other folkname: Ozark sundrop. She's also said to be edible. I've used the leaves and blossoms in salads, but never cooked the root (also edible). If you're into foraging and want to try this plant, check out this site for information. Members of the Oenthera clan have also been used by Native Americans to treat asthma, eczema, heart disease, and circulatory problems; and by modern herbalists to treat premenstrual stress. In our meadows, it's everywhere this year, and--like everything else--about two weeks early. I'm hearing from gardeners across the southern tier of states: we're all experiencing an unusually early spring, another piece of evidence (as if we needed it) that our climate is changing.

Book report. The General's Women (the Eisenhower/Kay Summersby story) is out there at last, and doing very well. If your library doesn't have it yet, please ask your librarian to order it (available via Ingram). Here's a review I especially appreciated, written by Brenda Viglienzoni for Goodreads. If you're a NetGalley reviewer, you can download a review copy here.

Also on Goodreads right now, a giveaway for The Last Chance Olive Ranch, the new China Bayles/Pecan Springs mystery. The publisher is giving away 10 copies--but you can't win unless you enter. Go here to take care of that little business. 

I'm working on the next (#7) Dahlias. As you know, this historical series is set in the 1930s--the book I'm working on is set in October, 1934. This is a fairly light-hearted series, but I can't help but be struck by the parallels between that era and our own times. After the Wall Street crash of 1929, global economies plummeted, with banks failing here and across Europe. Then came austerity measures; tariffs were imposed (here and abroad); isolationism grew; race hatred and bigotry flared, especially against Jews; and governments moved toward militarization. Hitler celebrated his first electoral breakthrough in 1930. In 1934, Paris saw a million people demonstrating for the far-right. In America, in 1934-35, Huey P. Long campaigned for the presidency, preaching his "every man's a king" sermon and promising that if he were elected, he would cap high incomes and give the money to the poor. He gained millions of supporter and would have been a serious challenge to FDR in 1936 if he hadn't been assassinated. (Roosevelt saw him as one of the two most dangerous men in America; the other, he said, was General Douglas MacArthur.) Only three years later, in 1939, Hitler invaded Poland.

The more I read, the harder it is to ignore the parallels. I keep reminding myself that if we don't learn from history, we are doomed to repeat it--and the cost, this time, will be unimaginable.

Not a comfortable thought on a pretty Friday morning, but there it is.

Reading note: “The most effective way to destroy people is to deny and obliterate their own understanding of their history.” --George Orwell

 

 

In bloom this week: Turks Cap

Turks cap (Malvaviscus arboreus var. drummondii) is at the top of my favorite wildflowers list. It grows under our cedar trees, in very dry shade. The red blossoms are like rubies, or like frosting roses on cakes. (Choose your metaphor.) The hummingbirds adore the nectar and will hover for long moments, sipping. The flowers, roots, and leaves are edible (you can make jelly from the blossoms) and the plant has some limited medicinal uses. It blooms all summer for me, and by early September, it may be the only thing blooming in the garden. I can't ask for more from a native plant.

Work In Progress. I finished "Calico Stars," the most recent needlework project--a charted needlepoint, with threads from my stash. Fun and interesting. To see what I'm doing with it, go here.

Book report. The General's Women is coming back from its beta readers, and I'm working through their suggestions. I've started the 2018 China Bayles mystery, Queen Anne's Lace. It's another duplex mystery (like Widow's Tears) with dual plots, contemporary and historical: China and Ruby in modern time, another plot set in Pecan Springs in the 1880s, with the two stories coming together at the end. That's the plan, anyway. We'll see how that works out.

Other doings. I enjoyed my visit at Landa Library in San Antonio--standing room only (honest!), an engaged and interested group. Fun for me to talk about the changes in the publishing world over my 30+ years of active writing/publishing. And the Girls produced so many extra eggs last week that I baked a quiche. With all the political sturm und drang, it feels good to retreat to the kitchen.

Reading note. I got the blues thinking about the future, so I left off and made some marmalade. It's amazing how it cheers one up to shred oranges and wash the floor.--D. H. Lawrence

 

In Bloom This Week: Desert Willow

 

I love the delicate, frilly blossoms on our Desert willow tree, sometimes called Desert orchid. It's a small tree, 15 feet or so, with graceful limbs and willow-like leaves. But it's not a willow and hates wet feet. It's native to the arid Southwest, where Native Americans used the wood for bows and baskets, a decoction of the flowers and leaves to treat coughs, bronchial infections, fungal infections.The flowers produce an alluring nectar, to judge from the hovering cloud of pollinators, buzzingly busy, searching out that last sweet drop.

Book report. I heard from Michele Vega, my Berkley editor, that she's accepted the manuscript of The Last Chance Olive Ranch. It's due out April 4, 2017. When we have a cover, I'll share it with you.

This week: I started the third full copy-edit pass through The General's Women. But there'll be another copyedit after mine. Nobody's foolproof. Mamie Eisenhower is one of the three central characters. Here she is at 19, a gay, petite charmer in her wedding dress.

Homestead report. The thermometer has hit 100 every day this week. The chicken coop gets the full afternoon sun and it's pretty hot out there, so The Girls are getting an extra couple of hours of grasshopper-time in the shade of our spreading elm tree, where it's a little cooler. The nights are now in the upper 70s, too hot for even my Texas-bred Porter tomatoes to set fruit. So far this year: 5 quarts of tomato sauce in the freezer, for spaghetti and lasagna. Ah, summertime, summertime.

Reading note. All in all, it was a never-to-be-forgotten summer — one of those summers which come seldom into any life, but leave a rich heritage of beautiful memories in their going — one of those summers which, in a fortunate combination of delightful weather, delightful friends and delightful doing, come as near to perfection as anything can come in this world.--L.M. Montgomery, Anne's House of Dreams

 

In Bloom This Week: St. John's Wort

St. John's wort, blooming on Midsummer's Eve. In medieval Europe, this plant (Hypericum perforatum) was thought to be magical. Burned in the Midsummer's Eve bonfires, it was supposed to chase away the devil as the year spiraled down into the darkness of winter.  With its sunny blossom, it has long been reputed to lift the low-spirited and cheer the melancholy; contemporary research suggest that it's as effective as OTC anti-depressants for mild depression. Look closely at the photo, and you may see a cheerful, non-depressed green spider.

Homestead report. Tomatoes, and lots of them. I made tomato sauce for the freezer last week. But the bunnies got my sweet potatoes. Grrrr... The snakes would like to get The Girls' eggs, but I have a surprise for them. I captured (and released) three bull snakes last week. The biggest was close to six feet. I sprayed him with a streak of white paint: if he comes back, he'll be deported in the next county.

Book report. Doing revisions on The General's Women, working through the full draft for the second time. Once more ought to do it--aiming to be finished by the end of July. I've started research on another historical, but I'll probably write the next China Bayles mystery (Queen Anne's Lace) first.

Reading note. Writers write. They write anyway. You don't quit because nobody buys the books. You just do it anyway because it's your nature. You have stories to tell.--Philip R. Craig

In Bloom This Week: Daylilies

The daylilies are blooming beside the creek. The petals of this lovely hybrid remind me of peach-pink taffeta. If they remind you of salad, that's okay too: the petals are edible, either fresh or dried. And yes, they do make a lovely addition to a fresh green salad. The buds are edible too. Harvest them while they're green and firm and steam, boil, or stir-fry them. Or pickle them, if that takes your fancy. (Some people are allergic: if this is a new food for you, snack first to see how your system responds.)

In the West, daylilies never quite caught on, medicinally speaking. But in the East, in China and Japan, they have been used for centuries as a diuretic, and for urinary tract disorders, uterine bleeding, vaginal yeast infections--also to treat cancer. The next time you meet a daylily, remember that she's not just a pretty face. Treat her with respect.

Book report. Still chugging along on my current work-in-progress, The General's Women. This is a long book: about 120,000 words. That's some 40% longer than my usual mysteries--but understandable, since there's so much more to cover. I enjoy digging deep into a time period and a place--and this novel involves plenty of both. It covers the time period of America's engagement in WW II: 1942-1945, as well as the post-war lives of the three main characters: Dwight and Mamie Eisenhower and Kay Summersby (Ike's WW2 driver). It is set in Washington, London, Algeria and Tunisia, and Europe. There's a wealth of resource material, of course. For me, the big challenge is pulling it all together into a coherent story that focuses on the emotional lives of the characters within a fascinating historical setting. I've been doing some chapter restructuring this week--hope to be finished with this run-through by the end of June. I'll make another, cleanup pass in July.

Reading note: I learned that you should feel when writing, not like Lord Byron on a mountain top, but like a child stringing beads in kindergarten - happy, absorbed and quietly putting one bead on after another.--Brenda Ueland